Reckless
by FormerSuperVillian
Summary: [[Updated chapter 1]] The Lone Wanderer Erin is (probably) missing! Charon's nerves get the better of him and he leaves Megaton with an ex-radier OC to travel across Capital Wasteland and beyond to find him. Dead or alive.
1. Chapter 1

Megaton, 6 yrs after Project Purity...

Inside the rusty shack in the far corner of the room, Charon sat like a rock in the cushioned chair, his eyes narrowed and focused on nothing. His breathing was controlled. Slow, slow even breathing. His heart pounding so slowly, slow blinking. This was a meditative state just on the outside of sleep, one he would ease into when he had nothing else to do but wait. He could not sleep, which he hardly could if he managed to. The shack popped as the metal cooled and expanded in the night and the hiss when it simmered in the wasteland sun, the water pipes rumbling and shaking, he heard the smoothskin preaching outside. He heard children running by and playing with the gnomes outside and he heard the bugs at night and the drunken townsfolk going to their own rusted shacks to sleep away their intoxication. And he stayed waiting. He kept with exercise to keep himself fit and to work out so he wouldn't go completely stir-crazy, he was going to loose it in this boredom. He didn't mind the silence, but it was becoming nerve wracking.

Dogmeat wandered over to nudge his hand, requesting to go outside. Charon slowly pulled himself out of the chair, ignoring dull pain in his joints and followed the excited mutt to the door, thinking about how this was a great excuse to enjoy a quick smoke. He had not smoked this much in ages.

The Lone Wanderer ordered Charon to stay in Megaton. But for how long this time? Erin had a habit of running off into the wasteland for days before returning again, as one does with a moniker of Lone Wanderer. It was something that took Charon a few years to get used to, other than the kid's annoying attempt to be friends with him and everyone he came in contact with. It had been a rocky road for both. Being conditioned to always protect the contract holder had a bit of strain on him when his contract holder was constantly going AWOL, at least in the recent years Erin would finally give him the actual order for him to stay put until he got back. Erin would return, of course, the vault kid wasn't the child that was toss out into the apocalyptic world with a BB gun and broken pistol anymore. Erin was the (painfully kind) Messiah, or at least from the howling of Three-Dog and voices outside the shack that pass by almost reverently in their steps said. Erin, Messiah, Lone Wanderer or whoever, Charon had a job to do and it was to protect the contract holder... He could not defy a direct order. He had been rarely ordered to do much of anything by Erin, other than stay behind like the fucking dog, but the Lone Wanderer would return always, a few days later laden with gear and scavenged parts to be traded for caps and ammo.

However, this time, Erin has been missing over a week now.

Longer than ever before and it made Charon anxious. His new and repeated mantra, "Erin isn't helpless," would echo in his mind in sync with the rushing blood in his veins screaming at him grim possibilities that fate had in store for his contract holder. There were many times Charon found himself standing at the door with his combat shotgun in hand, itching to leave the shack to go find the vaultie. He was always on the verge of leaving Megaton, at times he got as far as the gates before he couldn't will himself to move past the threshold into the Wasteland. He suspected something must have happened to Erin and that he must find him but he worried if he left now, Erin could return perfectly fine and find Charon gone. Scenarios flashed rapidly through his brain, telling him he should just leave, if anything he should go back to Underworld. They agreed to meet there if seperated, but that was five years ago. But if Erin returned while Charon was gone and Erin would be injured on his way to Underworld? Though Erin could be injured or dead out there right now. Ultimately, Charon would get frustrated and march all the way back to the shack, startling people with his growling, knocking over gnomes Erin has neurotically collected and lined up along the shack patio. He would shove open the thin door and storm all the way to his chair in the far corner.

Charon had hell on the fourth overdue morning of Erin's absence. It was in part of being worried for Erin, that is what he assumed, or it could be his nerves all together. He may be a statue and emotionless vessel of death, but underneath his nerves were wrenching and raw and maybe a bit worried. Erin was a good kid, and maybe, just maybe he thought of Erin was a friend. He was definitely a very lenient contract holder, trustworthy and kind. One doesn't get an employer like that so very often. And maybe he had grown attached to the kid. Despite knowing he must not grow too attached to contract holders. It's a possibility. People tended to exploit Erin's good nature unless Charon was there. Erin even told him that he felt braver having him around, so he definitely needed him for emotional support but Erin couldn't understand what Charon meant by not being used at full potential. Charon was a guard, a tool, a weapon and he was overall obedient. His potential can be destructive and he happened to be very efficient at killing others. Erin was a good kid but Charon needed to stretch his legs and kill something. He's not here for emotional support, damnit, he's here to do his duty.

Charon dropped his cigarette and crushed it with his heel, giving it a good grind for extra measure. He gave those who dared glance his way a nasty scowl and went back into the shack. Another fucking day.

Erin had one other command before he left: Charon would help defend Megaton while he was away... doing whatever. At first Charon hated the idea of guard duty with civilians, but after a three day assault from raiders he decided while blasting heads away with that sheriff, it wasn't such a terrible order. Attacks were nonstop and from different ends. The older civilians said it was worse than the Boppo raids because these raiders had some small inkling of strategy other than to just shoot up on psycho and run towards the guns. But, then stopped almost abruptly one evening. Perhaps someone lucky had shot the one in charge. The robot deputy had to be repaired, a hole in the walls had to be welded shut after being blasted out, several of the new settlers were injured and a few died, but Megaton proved itself to be a useful fort when it came to it. The small bouts of violence helped remind the townsfolk the Lone Wanderer's ghoul companion wasn't like Daring Dashwood's beloved Argyle. Charon scowled, he remembered Erin laughing incredulously when Moria had mentioned the comparison. The crazy woman may had been joking, but it still annoyed Charon to death.

Dogmeat returned to the shack, passing the ghoul that held the door open for him. Charon marched past his shotgun, still on the book shelf and collecting dust as we went back to the chair. Anoher fucking day.

Charon had been in the worse of his fits of boredom on the sixth day of waiting for Erin. If there was a sound out of expectation, he was at the shotgun and ready to blast the door away, though in hindsight he didn't know why he had been so paranoid. The whole thing made him confused. So Charon had all but avoided going near his trusty weapon. That shotgun was his only possession for as long as he could remember, but that day it felt like the end of a fuse and if he were to look at it for too long that he would loose his handle on the situation. He doubted he would go on a rampage, but something needed to be damaged. Last thing Megaton needed was a giant ghoul with an itchy trigger finger on the loose. It wasn't like he was going feral just yet. Shucking off his armor had made him feel an inkling better and also standing out on the balcony more often for fresh air did just as well to calm him. Hell, he was starting to take up alcoholism. It was only temporary of course. Outside, he would watch smoothskins move about, hearing their droning voices and Nathan humming somewhere out there. Dogmeat would run up the platform, his massive paws making a dull thudding until he reached Charon's side. It was a hilarious thought, but Charon swore if it wasn't for the mutt's routines, he would have lost his mind. And as usual, Dogmeat would lean against Charon's leg for attention and he would scratch behind the mutt's ear then open the door to allow him back inside the shack and become alone outside again, listening and waiting on another fucking day.

The eighth day Charon went to the Saloon to drink. He had drained all the alcohol reserves Erin kept. It helped him numb his limbs to keep from from trying to find a neck to throttle out of boredom. Charon hated drinking in social environments as it reminded him often of the Ninth Circle, but he had made compromises before. His program wouldn't allow him to completely shut out the world. Charon had tried to focus on the present, listening to the slurring smoothskins around him for mostly any chance of hearing gossip that could relate to the Lone Wanderer. Three-Dog on the radio would howl for a length of time, then the next song would play. Still, no news of the Lone Wanderer, Three-Dog's favorite topic. It was unusual. Charon would never admit to being worried for Erin out loud even if it was close to ripping his nerves apart inside. Gob would occasionally ask when he came to refill Charon's glass earning a glare for bringing it up, he knew Gob was being polite but that ghoul never left the saloon even after Erin had choked the bastard Moriarty to death on the bar top.

Jericho had no qualms about telling everyone around him in his drunken stupor about how Erin was very likely rotting in the wasteland. Gob is always quick to berate the bastard on his outbursts, glancing nervously to Charon while he did, as if he knew Charon was hardly keeping it together. Charon hated Jericho and everyone knew that. Erin's calm voice always echoed in Charon's skull, "not to pick fights in megaton, do not pick fights, do not... do not..." And he obeys, no matter how annoying Jericho got in his drink, "It would not be fair to attack Jericho for his words". Erin always tried to coach Charon on fairness, of course it was often like trying to talk to a wall. Charon could not give a fuck about fairness in a fight and he normally wanted to punch his fist through the man's face every time Jericho opened his foul mouth, but these were orders and Charon would never disobey. No matter any amount of pseudo-freedom Erin attempted to create for him, Charon was bound to that contract. Jericho, as expected often tried provoke Charon if he had enough liquid courage. Not because he knew Charon had orders not harm, only Erin's friendly patrons of the Saloon and Lucas Simms knew of his contact, but because Jericho was simply a bastard. At least Charon knew what to expect. Charon discovered turning his attention to bluff the smoothskin made more affect to shutdown Jericho's pitiful excuse for intimidation then ignoring him.

This afternoon Charon kept himself busy as much as possible, but there's not much to do in a town made of rust held together in horrible welds and a deactivated nuclear warhead in the center with idiotic smoothskins worshiping it. He had spent an hour listening to the jukebox, enduring the overplayed music and Three-Dog's fucking howling. Charon growled in annoyance, why must the man have to howl so much? He hated Three-Dog before and it got only worse when he and Erin met the radio host in person. In fact, Charon hated a lot of Erin's friends. On the radio, there were no new updates on their Lone Wanderer, the Messiah of the Wasteland. Though in Charon's mind, Erin was still returning to Megaton, having perhaps just traveled further than normal and that had prolonged his adventure? Erin gave Charon liberty to talk if anything were to come up for a conversation, most of it was subtle berating of the smoothskin's careless behavior when Charon did speak, but this time Charon would absolutely give the smoothskin a piece of his damn mind about ditching him in this boring rusted cesspool. He had told him before, he hated this fucking place, how clear can that be? How many days was it already? Two weeks already? He was loosing track of time? Whatever, didn't matter what time it was. He knew one thing:

It eas another fucking day and Erin was very, very late...

Charon woke in a start, grasping the sides of the chair tightly, his heart pounding against his chest. The sensation of being submerged and unable to swim to the surface for oxygen still clinging to him like a cloud. Charon rarely fell into a deep asleep and for good reason. He sat forward with a sigh, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees and his fingers rubbing his temples. A headache hammered through his skull. His sudden movement had upset Dogmeat from his nap as well, who had gotten up to lick the ghoul's hand. Charon grumbled, scratching the mutt behind the ear. Dogmeat gave him space, going upstairs to go crawl under Erin's bed to go back to sleep without interruption. Once Charon calmed his racing heart, he stood up and stretched out his limbs. His joints popped and he felt sore from lack of exercise. Charon knew if he stood up straight he could reach the second floor with his fingertips, and so falling into routine again, he hopped up to grasp the edge and began to do half-assed chin ups. He was hardly keeping count, only doing something to keep himself preoccupied to help him forget the haunting wonderings.

Charon heard a familiar sound of soft whirling that had snapped him out of his subconscious. He let go to drop silently down to the floor, his arms were sore. He wasn't sure how long he had been doing chin ups. Exhaustion was usually the only thing tell him to quit moving and rest. Charon walked around the bookshelf, peering upstairs, had he really heard what he thought he had? Perhaps he was starting to hear things now? Hell, in his time at the Ninth Circle had not been so mentally grueling for him than awaiting in this Megaton shack.

Upstairs, the robot's charging station doors have opened, green lights flashing. The whirling had been the motors powering up. Charon was momentarily struck with excitement. Wadsworth only powered up when a registered member of the house was in the vicinity, which meant Erin had made it back after all and making his way to the shack having finally returned to Megaton. Then, Charon got aggravated. There have better be a good goddamn reason Erin left him behind for an extra goddamn week. Wadsworth bobbed and hovered by the ghoul slowly and humming to itself on its way to the foot if the stairs in position in waiting for the door to open. Charon sat down in the cushioned chair in the far corner of the shack, silently fuming. If he listened closely he could hear footfalls, the steps coming closer then a pause. For the moment, the door didn't open, instead came knocking.

Charon pushed himself out of the cushioned chair, more knocking from the otherside of the door and a bit louder. He took a long look at the shotgun on the book shelf (where Erin ordered him to leave it when present, "This is home, damn it.") Instead he unsheathed his combat knife, holding it to his right closely. No need to waste bullets. He crossed the room quickly. Taking the door knob in his hand, his adrenaline was trying to peak at the surface, instincts warning him of threats. Who the fuck would knock? He was hyper aware of the situation. The door knob was very warm, conducted by the sun from outside, the robot's motor whirling nearby, Dogmeat had arrived to the top of the stairs in curiosity, Charon's blood was rushing. It's not Erin. He opened the door slowly and only a bit to peak out.

The afternoon sun's rays shone down in its hazy yellow, the heat from the wasteland rolled in to the shack to chase off the circulating breeze generated from the hard working fans inside. The large brim of Lucas Simms' hat caught his eye and Charon calmed down only a bit. He lowered his knife that was poised to strike if needed. Simms gave a polite smile. What did he want? No one does social visits, not even when Erin was in town. Why would the sheriff be here?

"Hello, Charon," Simms greeted. He only received a grunt in response from the ghoul, "I have someone I'd like you to meet, since I know what happens to strangers that come unannounced... May we come in out of the sun?"

Charon almost smiled at the memory of brain matter all over the balcony that past morning. A trio of Talon Company mercenaries had infiltrated the town, and made a bee line for the little rusted shack thinking they had the Lone Wanderer in their grasp with no escape. They must have not known that Erin was still out there somewhere in the wastes but Charon had welcomed them quite warmly when they came barging in. One caught a blast to the face from his shotgun, the second mercenary got over five puncture wounds, (Charon knew all too well over five stabbings the body could not clot up and bled to out) while Dogmeat mauled him further into death when Charon took after the third had tried to escape the town... well Charon curb stomped his face in enough that the man had to be scraped off the walkway. That had been a good day.

Charon took a moment to think about the Sheriff's request, absorbed in the good memory. In the moment Simms must have misinterpreted it as suspicion and Simms offered a silent gesture of peace that brought him back from his thoughts. Charon knew Simms was reliable in the few skirmishes they worked together in, he's never done Erin wrong either. Charon opened the door wider and stepping aside, his eyes gazing boredly to the smoothskin standing next to the sheriff. What was left of Charon's skin raised in goosebumps and his grip on his knife tightened in response.

Charon knew a raider when he saw one.

Charon scowled at the woman next to Simms. She was dressed in stained scavenger rags to cover her gear beneath. He continued to scowl as he sized her up. This woman had an old scarring that came from her forehead across her eye and freckled cheek, two more following next to the other scarring over the bridge of her nose and over her lips and chin. The raider's eyes narrowed at him as placed her hands on her hips and looked just as annoyed as he was. She titled her head at Charon then looked to Simms, her tuffs of hair on top her head were moused with motor oil, it bobbed back and forth on her head when she turned to look to Simms. But the sheriff did not break his confident stride as he led her into the metal shack.

Wadsworth seemed to pip up in excitement, or what seemed to be if a robot could be excited and called out a chippy, "Good evening Madame!"

The raider smiled brightly at the machine, showing she had a few broken teeth appearing to be sharpened. She grasped the robot's spherical body, pretending to pinch it's invisible cheeks.

"Wadsworth! You're looking just like new!" The young woman said with a thick southern accent.

"Madame, I have a message for you."

"Oh, save it for later." She said, giving the side of the robot a forceful kiss, letting go of the robot.

Charon heard Dogmeat run down stairs and hopped around the raider, barking happily, she knelt down to ruffle his furry face talking to him like a baby. During the whole raider's warm reunion with the bot and the damn dog, both who clearly knew her well enough to greet her, Charon stared at Simms in expectation. Hoping he wouldn't regret letting the smoothskins in while Erin was away.

"Charon this is Reagan, Reagan this is Charon." Simms explained, "Listen Charon, Reagan is a real good friend of Erin and Megaton. She comes around every now and then to visit and trades quality goods with us. Stuff we can't get here."

Charon gave Simms a dark look. Did Megaton trade with raiders? Was this some sort of trick? Erin would have mentioned a raider ally to him by now, especially one that had been around long enough to be recognized by Dogmeat and Wadsworth but having been escorted in by Simms only made the situation even more undesirable. Erin would not have associated himself with immoral scum. Clearly Erin kept some secrets to himself after all. Charon was sure this was a nice gesture and all by introducing her but what the hell did it have to do with him?

"I know what you're thinking. Reagan doesn't do that kind of stuff anymore, right Reagan?"

Reagan laughed again, "Like what stuff, Simms?"

Simms gave her a scolding glance, the two had a sort of talk before knocking on the door. It had been obvious, though whatever Simms could have told her, it did not take any sort of affect. Or maybe she just didn't respect the sheriff. Charon grits his teeth, she had gone back to sizing him up, standing tall as she could. She was taller than Sheriff Simms, making her a good head taller than Erin. She put her hands back on her hips. Simms rolled his eyes at her. She lifted her scarred chin, looking back to Charon and titled her head. She stares over him, he's just in his pants and undershirt. He wasn't dressed for visitors and he knew he smelled like alcohol and cigarettes. Simms cleared his throat. Charon sheathed the knife on his belt behind him.

"This is awkward, but I have obligation to hold the peace in Megaton, as you know. Reagan has a joint ownership with Erin of the house and like I said, her showing up abruptly without any sorts of introduction would not end well for anyone if this wasn't brought to your attention."

Reagan spoke up, "I even got my own room."

Charon scowled further. That explains why there were clothing and junk lying around in the second room when he traveled to Megaton with Erin half a decade ago. Erin said that was his room now, and Charon had no inclinations someone had claimed it before him. He assumed that the contract holder lived alone, as the two were there for James' death. That just proved further to Charon's doubt of Erin's apparent friendship with this raider scum. No, this wasn't going to do, no matter what Simms said. Charon didn't have to listen to him. That room belonged to him and he wasn't going to give it up.

"Be nice," Simms reminded her. His tone was friendly despite it being a command, touching Reagan on the arm. The sheriff gave a nod at Charon as he left the shack. Charon didn't even acknowledge him. He was angry with Simms for dumping this raider on him like this.

There was an uncomfortable silence that replaced Simms. The raider named Reagan leaned a bit forward, walking around him to slowly spin around the room on her heels, her amber eyes looking about. His eyes followed the curving, jagged trail of the scar from her cheek to rake down the back of her neck that disappeared under the lumpy rags. She had old blood stains on her sleeves and collar and oil stains along the ends. It meant she might not use long range weapons. He saw that Reagan was not currently armed with a gun but armored, to what extent was Reagan armored, he could determine from the rags that covered her. It was bulky but still there could be hiding a weapon there. Though Charon was confident he could over power her effortlessly if she were to try anything unwise. Large and heavy armor made the wearer clumsy and slow. Dogmeat seemed to trust her. The mutt had good sense when it came to humans. But Charon knew a raider when he saw one, no matter how civilized she appeared to be around the sheriff. Raiders cannot be trusted. And this one still had that half-crazied look in her eyes.

"You can leave now." Charon grumbled, "Out."

"Where's Erin?" She asked, dropping her pack at her feet near the bobble head collection.

Charon growled, furrowing his brows at the muddy dufflebag. Reagan knelt to dig through the pack, Charon moved to the book shelf. He was suspicious of her. After all, she may have a weapon in her bag. Instead she pulled out a small garden gnome. She wiped its grainy face with her thumb, Dogmeat prod it with his cold nose and when she tossed it in the cushion chair, the dog pretended he would fetch it back. The woman stood up. She looked to him with a raised eyebrow. Her hazel eyes noticed his shotgun on the top shelf. She stared to it and he could see the gears turning in her head.

"Erin told me to meet him here," Reagan said. She looked very concerned, "Eh, maybe he'll show up tomorrow. I mean, he's rarely late."

Reagan kicked her bag next to the book shelf causing it to rock. She looked over to the ghoul again. She did not seem intimidated in the slightest, though she was smart enough to not look away for long. Reagan even made eye contact, keeping as intense as she could and walked around him. Charon wanted her gone immediately so he did not try to block her way to the exit as she passed him. Why was she leaving her pack behind? This better not be some trick, leaving it behind so she would have to return. Before he could kick it her way, she took a sharp left up the stairs.

"Stop." He snapped again, his voice raised.

Charon saw her visibly twitch. She must not have liked that. She stopped half way up and turned over her shoulder.

"Get out." He growled.

Reagan's expression snapped in an instant, her face distorted up in a snarl and she visibly seethed at him. Raiders were usually half feral to begin with, if not all chemmed out junkies or psychopaths first. Charon wasn't at all surprised at her reactions. When she saw that he wasn't taken back by her outburst it only made her more annoyed. Then she feigned like she was offended by his words. Great, she thought she was charismatic.

"I live here!"

"Get the fuck out."

Reagan's eyes widen, "Fuck no! I'll be damned if I get kicked out by Erin's goddamn ghoul butler!"

Reagan turned swiftly on her heels to march up stairs, ranting under her breath about him. Reagan had just made it to top of the stairs when she felt cold steel of a gun barrel against her neck. She stood rigid, chills ran down her spine. She had not even heard Charon come up that stairs behind her. Maybe the sound of her metal cleats on the tin had drowned out his steps? She held in her breath, listening to the ghoul growling behind her. She bit her lip nervously.

"I would have painted your brains all over the walls the moment you dared to argue with me... however Simms says you are Erin's friend so for the final time, get the fuck out."

"Okay, yeah..." She mutters lowly, "I'm too exhausted to fight with you anyways."

"Sure, smoothskin."

The barrel is lifted from her neck, she turns slowly around to face him, barrel still at eye level. Charon was fuming in a thinly concealed rage. The ghoul was one step away from pulling the trigger and her brains painting the walls and she knew it, her wide eyes told him that much. Reagan was trying to remain calm, she's seen something this before with junkies, and she knew how junkies acted. Maybe Erin's ghoul was crashing hard off of ultrajet high? Charon decided she was eyeing him for too long, he pumped the shotgun and Reagan nearly jumped out of her skin. Her copper skin seemed to pale.

"I got it!" She cried out.

Reagan walked around Charon to the stairs, making a bee line for the exit. She kept her eyes on him and his finger in the trigger. He was right on her with it, Charon would not even so much as glance away from her.

"This is complete bullshit. Don't you dare think that I ain't going to get you back for this." Reagan growled when she reached the ground floor, "I swear I'll get you back."

Charon was unaffected by such a weak threat. He kicked her pack towards her, silent. Reagan gathered up cans that rolled out, glancing between her belongings and his gun. Reagan turned away from him, opening the door slowly. Dogmeat was by the door, his head tilted. She was roughly shoved out the door to hurry her, he slammed the door closed before she could turn around to yell at him once more.

Charon stood facing the closed door, trying to regulate his breathing. His hands were too tight on his shotgun, he had nearly killed that woman, raider or not he could not break orders, Erin ordered no fighting outside of ditect attacks. No matter how badly he wanted to see blood flying and letting out his stifled up violence. Charon finally calmed himself to breathe normally, placing the shotgun back on the book shelf. He could hear her yelling outside at the shack but he was not bothered by her noise. He went to the chair, pushing the gnome to the ground and sat down, listening to the little taps of rocks she threw at the tin. Dogmeat whined at the door, Charon grumbled at the dog under his breath. His worry turned back on where Erin could be.

Charon leaves the shack that morning with crate tucked under his arm, holding the door open with his boot heel long enough for Dogmeat to run out to stretch his old legs. The two took a left down the hill, stepping over the garden gnomes some kids moved around. People still give him a wide berth with the occasional glance in his direction. There were more people coming to Megaton every week, soon there would be no room for any more. He could barely avoid anyone on the paths like he used to. He didn't like Megaton, but it was better when there were only thirty people. He spotted Dogmeat running around the Brass Lantern, doing his best tricks for scraps to Andy that brought out a bowl of noodles for a customer at the stools. The damn dog always acted like he was never fed, growing fat from treats and lack of exercise. Hell, he felt the same.

Charon marched over walkway above the clinic when he happened to notice Jericho sitting on the clinic porch. He had a nasty black eye that was swollen shut, and bruises on his neck. Charon glared at him as he passed. There were one too many raiders in Megaton for his tastes. Jericho bitterly drank from his whiskey bottle as he leaned on the railing, even better was the rare sighting of Doc Church outside yelling at Jericho for his carelessness, but the doctor was probably more bitter about having stand out on his own porch than using stimpaks on a what looked to be injures from a good bar fight. A fight sounded nice. Dogmeat caught up with Charon's shadow when he passed Craterside Supply.

Charon pushed open the Saloon door with his shoulder. Gob was cleaning pint glasses, peeking through them to the sickly light bulb above him to find any sign of grime he could have missed before storing them below the bar. The Saloon was nearly empty inside at this hour, nothing out of the ordinary. Charon closed the distance to the counter with a few strides, placing the crate next to the radio. Gob hummed and tossed his dirty rag below the bar, digging through the crate of water and unlabeled glass bottles with curiosity. Gob took one of the bottles out, pulling out the cork. He sniffed loudly and took a sip, coughing. The ghoul knew the drill, Charon always ordered the same things to trade for purified water, moonshine and whatever else he didn't need. Before, Charon quickly got over his own curiosity with the moonshine produced from the homemade distillery Erin made with copper he salvaged. He called it a new hobby, and when Gob found out from Nova of Erin's moonshine, the ghoul personally came to the shack to try it himself. Charon couldn't stand the stuff, Gob and Erin loved it and apparently most of the settlement did too. Gob gave Erin a cut of caps for supplying the Saloon with his moonshine, or at least some trade. Erin was notorious for giving things away for free, even his own shirt off his back. Charon didn't see what was wrong with the choices between beer, whiskey and vodka that Gob normally offered for sale. It was decent and thought it was often watered down from caravans, he had worse served in other places, he never complained. Charon refused to drink any of the moonshine. His first trail sip with Erin months ago was enough to make him loose his breath. It was better to use it as paint thinner than to drink willingly and Charon was honestly surprised no one had died or gone blind because of Erin's moonshine just yet.

While in that moment of Gob going starry-eyed over more moonshine to stock, Charon looked to the loft above the bar when Nova came from her room trying to stifle a laugh, behind her came Reagan hanging on Nova's shoulder with her face in the woman's hair. The apparent ex-raider looked smaller without her gear making her look awkward. Now she only wore the rags and the padded football pants converted into armor pants. He expected malnutrition as a lot of scavengers ended up as they travelled endlessly, but in fact Reagan appeared to have more muscle tone than he could have guessed from what was revealed by the baggy sleeves rolled to her elbows. She definitely looked like she did a lot of manual work outside and even from constant exercise. The two giggling women made their way downstairs, Nova blowing smoke up to the rusty ceiling from her cigarette. She smiled at Charon warmly, wiggling her fingers at him. And Reagan, with dark bags under her amber eyes also raised her hand to wave until she saw Charon at the bar. Her bibulous smile melted away, she squared her shoulders and lifted her chin before marching out the Saloon. Charon waited for Gob to stop laughing at Reagan and finish the trade out.

"Yeah, uh, Reagan is pretty pissed off that you kicked her out of Erin's place," Gob said between a laugh, taking the crate to the fridge, "she's can be pretty intense, huh Charon?"

"Why did you kick her out?" Nova asked, leaning against the bar.

"Trespassing."

"But that house is just as much as hers as it is Erin's. She helped him disarm the nuke outside."

Charon said nothing, he already heard that story from the Sheriff about the miraculous intervention of Erin shooting Mr. Burke and he didn't give two shits about it. He glared at the crate watching it fill up to replace the alcohol with food. Nova flicked her ashes into the tray next to her and shook her head.

"She's his girl you know." Nova mentioned.

Charon huffed. That sounded absolutely unbelievable but also tremendously hilarious to him. He couldn't pin the two as an item, not even once as a drunken one night stand kind of way. Erin was pretty generous about his sexuality, a lot of his preferences were clean looking with blue eyes. To imagine Erin rolling around with a woman who was possibly twice Erin's size and looked like she could bench press a live rad scorpion without a sweat was pushing it. Charon even looked to Nova to see if she was jerking his chain, but no, Nova was very sincere.

"She saved his life too. Give her a chance, she's real fun."

Gob brought back the crate, setting it in front of him, "Listen, Reagan used to be pretty regular once before you came around. Nova and I love her to death but she's rowdy as hell. I'd keep an eye on her. But she isn't all bad... just don't leave any unattended vodka around her and expect her not to drink it all before you turn around."

"She's a raider, I do not care if you do vouch for her or not," Charon answered, pulling the crate closer, "she is not stepping foot in the shack until Erin gets back."

"My Reagan left that raider life behind long ago."

"Don't worry about it too much. Erin will be back before you know it, the two will fuck and then she'll take off again to who knows where."

Charon grumbled. When Erin gets back he's going to demand answers. Nova stumped out the cigarette as several people came in, greeting them happily. Charon ignored a conversation that sparked up next to him. He was trying to focus on the radio. He held his breath when Three-Dog made an announcement about Erin, but it was only a recording of a previous adventure he couldn't quite recall. Charon ordered a shot of whiskey, it would help. Gob happily delivered.

Charon leaves the saloon once more people began to fill the seats. Too many bodies in one place all trying to drink more than the other while all trying to talk over one another and it was all too much for Charon to linger around. The hot air outside was slightly refreshing, as refreshing as a wasteland could be for the lungs whether you are a ghoul or not. Charon shook the crate to settle the loose boxes of dried foods to keep them from shifting their weight and continued down the platform to the lower levels, anxious to get back to the shack in case Nova started to try again to engage in conversation with him. As one sided as the conversations where with him, she would eventually end up talking to Gob or a customer and glance to Charon as if he had been contributing the whole time. Small victories, she would say. Charon quit trying to scare her away years ago. Nova was a sweetheart, she had sass but very sweat. She held no grudges, Gob openly praised her for that. She would say she did not hate Charon for hurting Gob in the past, as they were all good friends now. Charon sometimes wished she wasn't so forgiving. She had no idea the things he's done in the past, but Gob knew things. Neither made an attempt to correct her and Charon wasn't about to apologize for only following orders.

Halfway off the ramp over the clinic Charon spotted Simms in the door way of his home, it seems he had been stopped at the door by Reagan. His duster wasn't even on yet, and he was holding a mug of coffee despite it being almost midday. Must be the end of another week, another week Erin was missing. Charon only ambled in the direction of Simms' shack out of curiosity, a bad trait he recently picked up thanks to Erin's adventurous lifestyle. When he got close enough to eavesdrop, the two were having a bit of a disagreement. Reagan was waving her hands dramatically, her tone was low in in a forced whisper, sounding more like a hissing fit than a sound rebuttal to Simms' calmer statements. The sheriff looked very drained by the way his eyes kept focusing on his mug with more interest than what Reagan wanted. By now Charon had approached the two, looking between the both of them as if Simms would ask Charon to kick Reagan out of Megaton. Which he would definitely do, if asked. Simms smiled to Charon, politely greeting him. Reagan's shoulders tensed up and she gave the ghoul a sneer.

"Oh, what do you want?" Reagan hissed, forgetting she didn't need to whisper now.

"Is there a problem?"

"Not at all, Charon, me and Reagan are just talking about how lovely the glow is off the puddle around the bomb looks." Simms replied with a sarcastic smile sent Reagan's way.

She let out a loud hrmph, marching away behind the sherrif's shack. Simms swirled his black coffee and sighed heavily, one attached to bad news. Charon narrowed his eyes, he didn't mean to be a nosey parker, he couldn't care much for problems of others. He only came this way incase Simms needed backup if the the raider got out of control.

"Have you heard anything from Erin?" Simms asked.

"No."

Simms nodded, looking back to his mug, "Yeah, I was afraid of that."

"What do you know?"

"Not a thing more than you. But, you gotta wonder if he's alright."

Charon wanted to wring his neck. As if Charon wasn't already stressed out enough already.

"Do you think Erin is alright?"

Charon walked by Simms. He didn't need to hear this. The sheriff didn't mean any harm by asking aloud what Charon was wondering constantly himself, but it still annoyed the hell out of him nonetheless. Charon had decided that morning he would not leave Megaton. He couldn't leave now. Erin could literally be back any moment now and the stress would be over, he wouldn't have to go out and find his corpse and start all over again by finding a new contract holder. That was the last thing he wanted to do. Charon shook his head at the memory of Erin's sunburned hands holding his contract out to him, saying it was his mistake for thinking this was an easy contract to resolve. As if simply handing it back to Charon would just erase the whole purpose of his existence. Erin was such a natïve, sunburned little idiot. But the easiest to work for by far, no one came close to comparison. It was a bit unnerving at first with Erin's generosity, Charon wasn't sure if Erin would be those sadistic types to give with one hand and snatch away with the other. Five and an half years later, a long time for a good natured employer. Good things never lasted long out here in Capital Wasteland. Charon scowled. No. Erin was coming back. He wasn't dead in some damn ditch, any moment now that little vault bastard will be dragging a bag of junk to ask Charon to help him carry it to trade it off at the Craterside Supply. Any moment-

Charon was shocked from his thoughts when he rounded the corner to the shack, finding himself apart of a growing crowd gathered around Jericho and Reagan in the middle of a fist fight on the front porch. He scoffed loudly at their sloppy swings at one another, becoming increasingly amused by their tantrums, like two disorderly teenagers pretending to be hard-ass punks. Jericho got in a lot of good slugs at Reagan, her nose was so bloody, no one could tell if there was any serious damage to her already scarred face. Jericho's black eye had swelled close again, and Reagan landed some pretty powerful hits to the man's kidneys to the point of no doubt the man would be pissing blood for a while for sure. Reagan couldn't dodge for shit. Actually the more Charon observed, he discovered Reagan didn't even bother blocking Jericho's fist. The crowd thought Reagan was through when Jericho tripped Reagan, shoving her back onto her ass.

Jericho soaked up the victory, grabbing his crotch at her. Charon rolled his eyes, he didn't have to hear what was said to know it was disgusting. Charon sat the crate down at the doorway, reaching in his pocket for the shack keys when he saw the flash of steel. Reagan had rolled to her feet, a knife in her grasp. Jericho's grin was wiped from his face when she grabbed his own hand that had a hold of privates, the other with the knife poised to slice. Reagan's head collided with Jericho's nose and blood splashed out of his face into her hair like a broken hose. Charon had stepped in at that time, grabbing her wrist before she could slice down and publicly castrate Jericho in front of all of Megaton, including children. As much as he would have enjoyed watching Jericho get his ass beat, this was definitely not the place to do this. Simms had raced to the scene by now, his hat half way on his head, his rifle in the other. He stared at the three like an angry father catching his kids with cherry bombs and the plumbing. His face darkened with the rush of blood to his face, it was rare Lucas Simms raised his voice.

"Clear out people!" He hollered, causing the crowd to quickly disburse.

Reagan let go of Jericho's nuts and jerked her hand from Charon's grasp, not before he took her weapon away.

"I literally just spoke with you an hour ago," Simms snapped at Jericho, "and you two a couple of minutes ago, what the fuck do you three think you are doing? I oughta lock all three of you up for fighting in town!"

"That fucking scum right there, Simms!" Jericho hollered out, "that bitch should be banned from Megaton!"

"You're the bitch!" Reagan cried out at him, "you deserve every bit of this shit!"

"Shut up, both of you, I don't care who started it. You know the laws here." Simms snapped, his tone slowly calming down to normal, "You're already on your last strike Reagan. Charon, I'm disappointed you got involved-"

"He didn't do anything." Reagan said quickly.

Simms waved his hands to shut her up, passing her to grab Jericho by the arm, escorting him away. He was certainly getting an earful of Jericho's side of the story. Charon glowered at Reagan.

"I was gunna kill him." Reagan said, matter of factly, like discussing the weather.

"Do you usually do for the the genitals, or the throat, like a damn dog?"

"Oh, only you get to kill in this town because you live with Erin? I didn't know being in cohorts with the good ol' fuckin Messiah of the Wasteland leaves you diplomatic immunity! You have the audacity to stop me from a little attempted castration..." Reagan let out a loud dry laugh, "Yeah I heard bout them Talon Mercs you curb stomped in front of everybody."

"Remember that."

Reagan smirked, a lopsided smile and her cracked teeth poked out. She looked like some cartoony cannibal with her face covered in blood and jagged teeth. She nodded, lifting her chin, widening her stance to bounce on her heels. Charon furrowed his brow, was she about to swing at him now?

"Alright. Charon." Reagan said, saying his name with such a weird emphasis that made him even more annoyed, "I'll see you soon. We gotta talk, like I talked with Lucas."

Charon scowled at her.

Reagan leaned towards him, he turned a shoulder away from her to stay out of arms reach. She pointed to his hand, "You can keep that. Made it this morning."

"Do not let me catch you here again."

Reagan didn't seem to hear him, or perhaps chose to ignore him. She spun on the heel of her cleats, and headed back towards the otherside of Megaton. The little metal spikes made her steps sound like Dogmeat's claws on the tin. Charon looked down at his hand, opening his palm to look at the rusty shiv with a duct tape handle. The blade was long with a barb at the end to really do some serious damage if she had stabbed Jericho instead, that is if Charon hadn't stepped in and if Jericho had survived Reagan's attempted maiming, Jericho would probably die from blood poisoning from all the rust on the makeshift blade. Charon held the tip of the shiv between his thumb and index finger, chucking it high and as far as he could over the walls into the Wastes out of her reach if she came back for it. Content with his throw, he found the shack key finally in his pocket, only to discover the door had already been unlocked and Dogmeat was happily waiting for him inside. Charon let the door swing open wide, pushing the crate in with his boot going inside the shack. A quick glance up stairs on the balcony and he fumed. Erin was still gone and he had locked the the shack door behind him before he left to go to the saloon and he was sure of it. Reagan was the obvious suspect, afterall she was just outside the shack while he was away and she was the only one trying to get into it. Charon slammed the shack door close, causing the makeshift picture frames on the walls tilt. Another fucking day.

...

Hello. Yeah, I keep rewriting this damn chapter. I'm posting and writing via mobile, so there are going to be mistakes. Grammar isn't too swell, so just over look that, please haha... I think i figured out the editing system on this site.. oh, a lot of NPCs are going to make appearance like Megaton population. Enjoy, I'll try to remember to post often.


	2. Chapter 2

Sheriff Simms sauntered into the Saloon, taking off his cowboy hat to wipe his forearm across his brow. It was particularly hot this afternoon, the kind that kept troublemakers inside, for the most part. Simms stood on his toes briefly, trying to peek over the group of settlers and scavvers, he could see Gob at the bar refilling beer bottles with what he had in supply. Above him were the fans, spinning fast and rocking nearly loose from its bolts keeping it attached to the ceiling. Gob always made sure the fans worked and were always in good conditions, which is why half the settlement was inside the saloon. However, Gob seemed to be running short of lightbulbs. Last time he stepped into the saloon to drag Jericho off, it wasn't this dim inside. Nova appeared out of the crowd, when she passed him she smiled and gave a sweet greeting to Simms carrying a tray filled with beer orders. Simms didn't even get to utter out a response before she had to rush off. Simms made a path through the people standing between him and the bar, many who saw him also gave a swift hello and some rushed away. He could smell chemicals over the cigar smoke and stench of body sweat in the small space, but who ever had the chems made themselves scarce. There wasn't an outright ban on chems, but a lot of people in Megaton preferred chem use to be done in private.

Simms found Reagan at the furthest corner end of the bar, close to where Nova usually leaned against the wall. He made a bee line to her, she didn't even see him at first as she was laughing at some pour drunken fool that slipped off his bar stool. At first, Simms thought she was going to help him up, but her deft hands were taking his caps and whatever else she could get from his pockets. When Reagan looked up she quickly gave the things back by dumping them all in the drunk's lap, giving an innocent smile to Simms. The attempt was more of a forceful smile, her scarring across her lips took away the innocent attempt. Reagan stepped back from the drunk, and his nearby friends found him and picked off the floor and moved away. Reagan took her seat back at the bar when Simms walked past her to take post at the end of the bar next to her so that he could see the entire crowd and her. From this perspective, he could spot the few familiar faces of new residents, no strangers passing through, just the locals. On his left, Dogmeat was laying on his side to enjoy the cool breeze the fans blew over him, there was a bowl of water and a empty can of dog food near his paws.

Reagan kept her eyes on Simms, leaning forward to the bar to sip the vodka bottle in front of her. She also tried to keep that innocent smile. Simms decided to over look the attempted robbery, for now. Reagan was usually doing things far more aggressive than simply preying on drunks. She kept herself in the back of the bar from the crowd and out of the way, perhaps not looking for a bit of excitement, so her robbery wasn't premeditated, just an opportunity. Reagan shifted her eyes to Gob when he placed glasses under the bar, then right back on the Sheriff. Her innocent smile went away, transforming into that lazy smile of hers.

"Sheriff Simms?" Reagan muttered. It was a greeting with a lingering suspicion to her tone.

Simms stepped out of Nova's way when she went behind the bar, "How are you doing today, Reagan?"

She shrugged, "I didn't have a heat stroke today. What about you?"

"I tried to stay hydrated." Simms nodded, "You aren't planning anything that could cause trouble, are you?"

"Did you hunt me down to ask me if I'm going to be trouble?"

Simms shrugged next, "I'm just reminding you of your last strike. Just trying to keep the peace."

Reagan stuck out her lip then laughed, "I don't have a schedule, sorry Simms, my troublemaking is pretty flexible."

"Like with that young man?"

"Sir, I was making sure he didn't break his pelvis." She said, passing a wink to Nova, "not like I was trying to cut his balls off!"

Simms nearly shuddered at the thought of how close that had got. It was still pretty jarring, Jericho even requested to stay an extra day in the holding cell.

"Now, Reagan, that was pretty excessive what you tried to do. If you had gone through with it, I would have been forced to kick you out of Megaton for good. I know you don't like Jericho, but you need to learn to respect boundaries if you're going to be staying here. Not once has he approached you for a fight. I already had this talk with him-"

"You can save your breath right there," Reagan interuptted, "I'm not going to respect Jericho. That's the end of that."

"Why not?"

"Personal reasons."

Simms sighed, "Just stop attacking him. I'm tired of running across Megaton to break it up."

"What? Getting old?"

Simms gave her a look. "You don't have to respect him, just... keep yourself on the otherside the crater. Don't even look at him."

Reagan narrowed her bright eyes. She rubbed her chin in exaggerated thought. Simms watched her srunch her nose in annoyance. At least she was thinking about it. Simms waved at one of the settlers that yelled hello to him from across the bar. He turned back to Reagan, gesturing for an answer. She took a drink of her vodka bottle, then scowled, shrugging her shoulders back with a tilt of her head. She gestured back to him, mirroring his movement.

"I'll deal with you here," she raised her hand to stop him from interjecting and lifted her chin, "So, I'll leave Jericho alone. I won't try anything, I'll avoid him, you know... and I won't sucker punch him or try to cut him up..."

Simms waited for the conditions. He had made little deals like this before with her, she was surprisingly obedient if he kept his end of the bargain. He was anxious to hear what it could be, a few times before she asked for simple things like tools or her gear back, once she had asked for something almost too big for him to promise and he had managed to talk her down to something more reasonable.

"I'm taking too much of the bed upstairs, there's not a lot of room between those two. Erin's butler won't let me in my own house. And I'm angry with you for not getting involved, by the way, but that's not the topic, is it? So, I'll leave Jericho alone but you gotta let me stay in that house."

"I don't think that will be possible." Simms shook his head, "actually, I know it will be impossible. Charon's doing his job and I can't do anything about that. Erin's house is private property."

"Bullshit," Reagan hissed, leaning closer to him to keep others from evesdropping, "My name is on the deed also! I'm being forced out of my own home, Sheriff. I'm getting down right fucking upset about it, if you didn't already notice."

Simms raised one of his hands in hopes to de-escalate her rising temper, "Reagan..."

"Sheriff." She responded curtly.

"I'm sorry but I'm not getting involved with that. I don't want there to be a disruption." Simms explained, knowing that's what she didn't want to hear.

"Yeah, right, disrupting the goddamn peace of Megaton." Reagan mocked, "My belongings are in that shack. One of them being my own bed! I ain't fucking going to the common house. I came all this way, I am not heading back west this time of year."

Simms tried to calm her down, gesturing to her to lower her tone. She was starting to get that look in her eyes, thankful she wasn't getting too disruptive, but that didn't mean she might not still. Simms knew painfully well that Reagan hated being denied her property. They argued everytime she came to visit, checking her weapons at the door. She lost her privilege long ago for having her weapons in the settlement unchecked like everyone else. Reagan bared her teeth at him and turning to give her bottle of vodka a glare, picking at the wrapper with her chipped fingernails. Simms rubbed at his temple, glancing across the bar to notice Gob watching them. The bartender turned away back to cleaning the glasses when he realized he had been caught evesdropping. Simms scanned over the crowd once more, a few people had wandered outside giving others more room to get nearer to the bar. That's when Simms figured out a plan.

"Burke's house?" Simms offered.

Reagan sat down the bottle, dabbing her lips with the back of her baggy sleeve. "I do like looking at the bomb... but I don't know. It ain't my place. I know he's dead and was a bastard. Don't seem right."

Simms sighed through his nose, scratching an itch under his chin. Reagan staying in the abandoned house just for a few more weeks of peace? It didn't seem fair that Reagan would stay free in a private building while half the settlers stayed in a common house. The common house was nearly crowded to begin with, Simms had ordered for a few mattresses to make up for the population growth, but who knows how long that would take. And the possibility of Reagan growing bored enough to rob everyone was very high. Simms knew already there wouldn't be any bargaining with Charon, even if Simms brought a copy of the deed as proof, and to explain why she couldn't go home to the Megaton shack was out of the question, if she could understand that situation to begin with. It could be worth the peace. Burke's house was left untouched since Erin shot the bastard, saving Simms' life. No body even went around it as it is, and no offers to buy it ever came around either. Simms sighed again. It would be better than having the settlers pissed because their belongs was being pawned off, better than Charon killing Reagan and who ever else who happened to be in the way only to worsen the outcome, it was also better than Jericho's aggressive behavior heighted when he wasn't paranoid for imminent danger or locked in a death match with Reagan. Reagan's visits to Megaton were tricky, sometimes Reagan would lock herself away in the shack after trading all her rare supply to Moria. Sometimes she was trying to fight anyone. It would be that way for a week or three, then she would leave Megaton. Sometimes no fights occurred. With Erin's absence, it really changed up the whole routine. It even started to affect the population. People were walking around on eggshells, tonight had been a short reprieve but as soon as Simms let out Jericho, it might get worse.

Reagan tapped her fingers on the counter tops then nodded, "Alright. The cater shack until Erin comes back and this whole thing gets resolved. It will be resolved."

"Good. I'll give the key in the morning, but if you get in a fight with Jericho again, I'm taking it away and kicking you out, do you understand me?"

"Yeah, I'll leave Jericho alone for now."

Reagan smiled, holding out her oil stained hand. For now was better than a no. Simms gave her a firm handshake, trying not to visibly cringe when she squeezed his hand too tightly. Reagan let out a good natured laugh and ordered Simms a beer, Nova passed it along to them. Simms hoped he hadn't made a mistake.

It was late in the evening, Charon had been waiting for the sun to set. One more fan has stopped working leaving behind one remaining and it's future looked particularly grim. The damn place was falling apart without Erin keeping up on maintenance. He finished reassembling his shotgun, placing it back on the shelf. He grabbed the crumbled pack of smokes and stepped outside. The wind that blew over the gates would occasionally pass if he was near the railing, cooling him down. Charon had managed to find a thin shirt and some of the military pants given to him to change into. It helped with a lot of the heat, though if those damn fans would just work, it could be almost comfortable. He glanced around out of habit, watching a few groups of people moving from the saloon, drunk and stumbling down platforms, some laughing at one another as they struggled to shuffle towards the Brass Lantern below. Usual traffic for this time of day.

Charon blew smoke, deciding if a bowl of noodles sounded like a decent snack. Erin loved noodles, he would talk all day about different types of noodles, especially rice noodles. Erin said that he missed that about the vault. He would swear to Charon that he would make a huge pot full and they would eat until they were sick. From his understanding of what Erin had tried to explain by the noodles us that no one has lived until they had a bowl of Erin's Special Noodle Soup. Charon never gone to the Brass Lantern on his own accord. Last time either of them had gone to the Brass Lantern it had been about the water supply investigation. Erin had convinced one of the men in that family to confront his siblings about his chem addiction to receive support to over come the urges. Charon nodded to himself, that reminded him why he didn't go there. Charon watched Sheriff Simms leave the saloon, ambling his way down the platforms also, except a lot more sober than the others. Seeing the sheriff only reminded Charon of the confrontation with Reagan two nights ago.

And as if the mere thought of Reagan had summoned her, he saw her move out under the light above the saloon door behind a group of three. She was moving along the edge of the buildings, just out if the light but not too far where she was forced to go off the platform. She was wearing some burlap shirt that was too big for her, it made her look almost like a regular scavver like anywhere else. The way Reagan moved wasn't like a scavver, anyone could see it if they paid attention. Charon backed up from the railing, leaning against the shack wall in the shadow with his arms cross and watching Reagan duck behind Nathan and Manya's home. It could be likely she may be scooping out the shacks, testing doors to see if they had been locked tight, maybe moving to lay in wait for a lonely drunk to mug. He was going to finish his cigarette and go back inside, until he saw Reagan leaning over the railing with binoculars. It had him curious, wondering just what the hell she was doing. He followed her line of sight.

Brass Lantern.

It didn't come to him at first, not until the binoculars raised and focused on his position. He cursed under his breath. She had been looking for Sheriff Simms and sneaking around. Reagan was definitely up to no good and with a plan. Charon watched her ditch the binoculars, jogging over the platforms, crossing over the makeshift bridge and making her way past Lucy's shack. Charon huffed. She did not look happy, probably drunk. Reagan didn't carry a weapon, but from what he saw with Jericho, Charon knew he should be prepared for one. Reagan slowed to a march as she passed Jericho's shack, she was moving with intention, aggressively. Charon placed the cigarette to the corner of his mouth and crossed his arms. Her scars made her glare wicked, shoulder hunched once she stopped nearer. She looked like she was trying to intimidate him through a bluff. He moved in front of the door.

"Move." She ordered, "me and Erin earned that shack you're squatting in."

"What did I tell you?" He grumbled.

"Come off that wall so I can kick your big ass up and down this crater."

"Sure, smoothskin." he said sarcastically.

"I'll kick your ass to the fuckin moon." She snapped, "fucking kick your ass back in time before them bombs dropped on your ass."

Charon pushed off the wall, taking two steps and stopped. His hands were at his sides watching her stretch her arms, rolling her shoulders like some sort of prewar prize fighter preparing to go into the ring. He nearly chewed through the filter of the cigarette in thinly concealed anticipation for a fight. He couldn't start it, he had orders but he knew damn well Reagan would be the one to shatter that rule. All she had to do was attack him and he would end this problem swiftly. Reagan pushed her sleeves to her freckled elbows, not once taking her eyes off of him.

"I said I was going to get you back." Reagan repeated a little louder.

She did not like the silence. She marched up three long steps closer, standing up straight and puffing her chest out and fists ready at her sides.

"This is mutal combat, ain't it?"

Charon still said nothing, standing like a statue. He was waiting for her to shove his shoulder. Just waiting for the aggressive force that would justified his response. He was so ready to fight. He was excited, but couldn't provoke. Reagan was staring up at him with the most perplexed reaction. Her nose scrunched up right where the scaring crossed over the bridge, lifting the less damaged eyebrow. Charon watched her tilt her head, sizing him up. He had made no attempt to keep the knife hidden, he had the sheath to his side. It was in the open. Reagan's eyes lingered there on the knife a moment longer before they shot back up to meet his eyes.

"You ain't saying nothing?" Reagan asked, clearly annoyed.

Charon's continued silence and stillness was frustrating her. Reagan must have planned for an argument, finding none here. Charon wasn't about to argue with her when he already warned her about coming back. There was nothing else to say about it. It had threw her game off, her confidence she had coming in waned. It was a situation alien to her and it was amusing to watch her struggle to maintain her control. She was visibly starting to squirm, shifting her weight back and forth, expressions ranging from annoyance to confusion then suspicion. Charon wasn't going to back down to her bluff. He had no reason to, though he could just go back inside the shack and leave her out here but not tonight. They were cooped up for too long. Reagan regained her confidence and stood up straight again. Reagan wasn't going to back down either, clearly too stupid to realize the apparent danger. Charon blew out smoke above her. She lifted her chin and nodded once, her stance deflated and her heels touched the platform. Charon clinched his jaw, feeling a small sense of disappointment noticing Reagan was backing down.

The left hook took him completely off guard. It felt like he had been hit by a charging behemoth head on. He took half a step back to hold his balance, clutching his jaw. He tasted blood and the cigarette had dropped to the platform. He saw stars on the edge of the creeping darkness, if she had better aim and hit him in the chin, Charon was sure he might have dropped. It was a surprise, he fucking hated surprises. He took another half step back, feet shoulder width apart as he turned back to give Reagan one of his nastiest glares. Reagan was shocked, looking like she didn't expect him to be be standing still. The punch was probably enough for knocking out raiders, ending a fight quickly that way, but he was still on his feet and pissed. Her amber eyes grew big, possibly just realizing the reality of the situation she just put herself in now. Charon moved quick before she could even utter a curse, drawing his knife in a flash. Reagan narrowly moved out of the way, backing up to try to put a distance between the two of them. She was panicking, barely dodging. He sliced a wide arch and ripped the knife through the baggy sleeve and drew blood but she was lucky not to have lost that limb completely. He took wider steps than her, staying right in close so she couldn't get distance, lunging forward when she took a step and left herself exposed for the killing blow. She pivoted her foot to step out of the way at the right moment and then her panic was gone.

When she took the step aside, Charon left himself exposed, arm extended. Reagan grabbed hold of his extended arm that held the knife, and wasn't going to let him have it back. Charon bent his arm to shake her off, catching the edge of her elbow to his sore jaw, leaving his torso open to a studded knee pad striking into his stomach. It didn't hit as hard as her punch, he was easily shaking it off. Then a swift kick to the back of his sore knee that sent reeling pain through his nerves. It only pissed him off more. He threw a jab or two with his free hand, the position she forced him into was awkward to do any decent damage but it kept him from passing the knife to his free hand, but he could hear her little pained grunts as his fist connected with the sturdy padding she wore beneath the baggy shirt. Reagan lifted her knee again and he moved to protect his groin. It was a trick that forced him to go off balance. Charon felt pain shoot up his arm when she twisted his wrist in a threat to snap it. He didn't care if she tried to break it off, he refused to let go of the knife. The twist turned more as she placed herself further on his side, locking his arm from bending by holding her forearm above his elbow, next thing he knew he was looking down at the gound...

At the Brass Lantern Sheriff Simms was finishing his bowl of noodles. Lucy made the best noodles in Capital Wasteland, not that there was much competition, but Simms had had some pretty bad noodles before. The Brass Lantern didn't have much for seasoning, occasionally a trader would have an old dried pepper to sell. It was expensive, spices were rare here, Lucy tried to spend her whole cap fund on that pepper. Erin arrived just in time. Erin had enough caps stored away to buy her the pepper and help her purchase a bigger pot to be able to supply the slow but surely growing population in Megaton after the Enclave had been removed. Lucy cooked up a large batch for everyone, it had been a long time since Simms saw Lucy so happy. She gave them small pinches of the pepper she had grinded into a powder. Needless to say, Simms wasn't expecting it to be so spicy, living on bland unseasoned campfire meals and stale prewar food his entire life. It was fun. Everytime a long traveled trader stopped by, Simms would pitch in with Lucy to by any spices brought over. Simms smiled at Lucy as she stepped away from collecting empty bowls in tall balanced stacks.

"I'll have one more, then I'll head home for the night."

"I can make time for one more bowl for you, sheriff."

Andy wandered in from his smoke break, helping his sister collect the other bowls further from the register, dumping left over noodles, barbecue sticks and other bits of food into a larger bowl. The night was quieting down finally, cooling off nicely. The fans inside the Brass Lantern were repaired recently by Moria yesterday morning, now working like new, or at least close to new for being over 200 years old. The fans had nothing on the saloon, it had a proper ventilation grate to cycle out the stale air that collected in crowds. Lucy placed Simms' empty bowl on top the others just as a loud wham from above startled Simms. Lucy dropped all the bowls, hand on top of her head. Simms stepped off the bar stool, listening for gun fire. It didn't sound like a mine or grenade blast but it had been loud enough to cause the old rusted bars to vibrate off collected dust from the Brass Lantern ceiling. Andy stepped out of the back room, looking around. Simms marched outside, followed by Lucy and Andy. They wandered out to the center of the crader, their guns drawn and ready, looking around for any damage. No one was left outside, everyone must have made it back to their beds. That's when Simms heard it again, coming from the platform above. He turned over his shoulder then frowned. He quickly said goodnight to Lucy and Andy, rushing up the hill as quick as he could.

"Let it go!" Reagan hissed.

Reagan had managed by pure luck to twist Charon's arm behind his back, using his weight against him to put him on the ground. It seemed like the angrier he got, the stronger he became. He lifted himself back up with her weight on top of him not hindering his movement as if he was doing a simple push up. She wasn't going to let go, her left arm was bent around his neck in a death grip and the other kept the knife away from her. Reagan's body was aching painfully from being constantly slammed between the metal wall and Charon's back. She couldn't twist his wrist any further from her angle, but it didn't keep her from attempting to break his arm to prevent him from cutting her into pieces right then and there. The headlock wasn't secured enough either, loosing the effect more and more with each blow her back took against the wall. If she didn't have to deal with a knife she could have executed the hold correctly and have him stumbling into unconsciousness. Reagan was pissed off when she swung at Charon, only wanting to fight out her anger with him, but Charon was literally trying to kill her. The moment she saw it she knew how badly she fucked up, but she had no where to run. Charon slammed her into the wall again, his free hand keeping a gap in her hold so he could force in breaths. Reagan groaned in pain, again the air was knocked from her lungs and fighting the raising panic.

"I'll break your fucking neck!" Reagan growled between gasps for air. Not sounding threatening at all, "you fucking bastard! Give up!"

It didn't work. It wasn't going to work, not even when she had almost enough pressure to break his wrist was going to stop him. There was a lot of anger and Reagan could see it. She definitely should have listened to Nova and Gob, regretting this decision. And she couldn't even blame it on the alcohol. The next blow, the back if her head hit the metal. It made her vision swim, but held on, knowing it was slipping. Reagan's mind was racing, trying to think how she could get away from Charon if she lost her grip. She could run, make it out of the gates before he could get close. It was the only thing keeping her alive right now. Reagan shook the dizziness away, able to gain proper footing on the platform when Charon's knee bent down. He had a bad knee, she could exploit it. Reagan tucked her arm in further tightening the choke hold. She felt his heart beat hammering against her bare arm. Her fright was slipping away as she realized he was weakening. She managed to bring him down to a knee, but he was still fighting her. Reagan was praying he would pass out soon, she was barely able to hold on as it is.

"Stop it both of you!" Simms' voice cried out from nearby.

"Fuck off Sheriff, can't you see we're busy?" Reagan gibbed.

"You both are under arrest."

"Fuck off." Charon choked.

Reagan bit her cheek to keep from laughing. She glanced over her shoulder. Sheriff Simms was glaring at them, his rifle at his shoulder but the barrel wasn't raised or directed at the two of them, watching them struggle to over power the other. Charon let out a snarl and pushed himself off his knee, slamming Reagan into the side of the wall again, the force was stronger than the others and she cried out a curse. She nearly lost her grip this time, but a knee to the spine had thrown Charon off balance back to his knees again. Reagan heard the loud slide and crack of a charging handle pulled back and released. It caused her to shudder, turning her head a tad to look over her shoulder to see the barrel of an assault rifle pointing towards them. Reagan saw how angry Sheriff Simms' was as he walked around to their front. He glared down at Charon. Reagan considered letting the ghoul go for just a moment.

"I fucking said, the both are you are under arrest." Simms' tone definitely was serious, "drop your weapon. You know the law. Don't make me shoot the two of you."

Reagan felt Charon's struggle against her stop, but he hasnt moved. She stared ahead at Simms, watching the intensity of his glare starting to slip into noticeable unease. The sheriff was starting to look nervous. Charon took his sweet time glaring at Simms, before eventually opening his hand and dropping the knife. Simms' heel of his boot kicked the knife close so he could confiscate it. Reagan loosened her hold around his neck though not sure if she should out right let him go yet. Charon raised both his hands, grumbling under his breath. That was pretty convincing. She let him go, rushing aside out of arms reach. Charon picked himself off the platform, glaring down at Simms in silence. Simms gestured with the barrel of his rifle to the right. Charon didn't obey right away and Reagan saw how Simms was nearly sick from Charon's stare. But when he finally moved, Reagan followed behind him and Simms fell in step right behind her with his rifle still raised. She noticed that it wasn't pointed directly at her, neither was Simms' complete attention. She might even guess that Simms was frightened of Charon. It made her wonder what about the ghoul that could make Simms scared. Reagan was cautious, but not frightened of Charon, however she certainly was during the fight. Then again she had a problem having a healthy sense of danger to begin with.

The way to Simms' shack was slower than it needed to be, the air between the three of them was tense, too tense. It was unnerving. No words were said, Reagan couldn't think of anything to say. Usually when escorted to the bunker, Reagan jokingly called it a sex dungeon, throwing jokes and taunts left and right. She knew she would be released in the morning. Right now, Reagan was still trying to determine if she had actually died a few seconds ago and if this was even real. Her adrenaline was still racing through her veins and her hands tugged at the sleeves of her shirt. She nearly said something right then. Anything to break up this weird tension. Sheriff Simms never looked this nervous even during attacks on Megaton. They arrived to the makeshift bunker along the wall of Simms' shack, marching down stairs sheriff Simms unlocked the door and pushed it open to allow Charon and Reagan to go inside. The bunker was being used as a small jail as well as holding cans of preserved food and water. It had changed slightly since Reagan was last in here, the single cell that took up the majority of the small room was now sectioned into two cells with benches to sit and one of them held Jericho. He stood up from his bench and a wicked smile flashed from his lips. Reagan glared across the room at him.

"So this is where you've been hiding?" Reagan mocked as they moved closer.

"Finally, justice for the innocent."

"Did you just call yourself innocent?"

"You tried to cut my balls off!"

"Hey! Tone it down!" Simms snapped.

Reagan turned her head to watch Simms lock the cell door behind Charon, then moving her back so he could let Jericho out of his cell. Reagan shifted her weight on the balls of her feet, ready to fight if the man came out swinging. Instead he simply walked out with a smile, watching her fume. She hated him. She wanted to pop the eyes out of his face. They were mocking her. She nearly had, but managed to hold herself back, remained behind Simms until he instructed her to step into the cell. Reagan followed his direction reluctantly, holding her glare on Jericho even as the door closed and locked tight. Jerchio slowly walked up the stairs, giving her a little taunting wave with his hand before leaving completely.

"When do I get out?" Reagan asked.

"On good behavior." Simms answered.

The sheriff stepped back from the cells to look between the two of them. Reagan already began to pace her cell, testing the weight of the bench. Charon sat at his with his arms crossed over his chest.

"So tomorrow?"

"Possibly." Simms answered, walking towards the stairs.

"Hey! Sheriff!" Reagan called out, pressing her face again the bars of the cell door, "you let Nova know I'm here?"

Simms shut the door to the bunker, the single light bulb in the center of the room was their only light. It was extremely quiet. Reagan paced the cell again, then sat down at the bench. She looked to her left. Charon hadn't moved an inch, still glowering towards the door with his arms crossed. He hadn't made a sound. This was going to be a long wait. Reagan adjusted the torn sleeve so she could look at the cut over her bicep. It wasn't deep, it stopped bleeding before they got into the cells. Dried blood caked her skin and stained her sleeve. Reagan got up from her bench and leaned into the far wall of her cell, arm out stretched to reach for the shelf nearest to her. She managed to hook the tip of her finger on the cap of bottled water, knocking it to the floor. She knelt down and reached for it, bringing it into the cell. Reagan returned to her bench, tearing off the ruined baggy sleeve, soaking the cleaner end with water and began to clean the blood off her skin.

Her adrenaline finally crashed completely, leaving her feeling exhausted and in aching pain. Her ribs ached something fierce. She gingerly pressed at her side to quickly inspect and assess the full damage. No doubt it would have been worse if she wasn't expecting him to retaliate, or more if she wasn't still wearing the leather padding she wore normally under her gear. She imagined the bruise was pretty big, the real pain would kick in tomorrow, but it can always be dulled with alcohol. Reagan checked her arm again, the fight kept replaying in her head. It had been a long time since she considered running from a fight. She glanced back to Charon. Still no movement, not even for an itch. His chest slowly rose and fell with each breath, but otherwise statuesque.

"So... Charon." Reagan muttered, her voice sounding too loud for the space they were in, "How long have you been in Megaton?"

Charon sat still and silent.

Reagan dabbed at the blood, parts were starting to clear away slowly so she was able to get a peek at a corner of the cut. It didn't look deep enough to worry about, it might leave behind a small scar if any. She looked back at Charon, holding up the water bottle.

"Want some water?"

Reagan frowned again, nothing. She thought about yelling at him, but realized that wouldn't do her any good. She held the damp sleeve over the remaining dried blood to soak it, staring at Charon. She couldn't understand how anyone could stay so still and quiet without fidgeting some way. If she stayed too still she started to feel strange and unsafe, her foot was always bouncing or her fingers tinkering with something, maybe pulling at loose threads on a shirt, or pulling at wires in a prewar scrap heap. Her brother had directed her antsy energy into learning how to repair. Picking up books to learn more until she could perfect her skill. Her aunt had been pretty forceful with trying to aim her towards become a nurse like her when Reagan came of a noticeable age for a young woman, teaching her everything Reagan could absorb but somehow she couldn't keep herself focused on one trick. A future where she was locked away in a tent patching up bullet holes didn't sound so satisfying. Reagan rubbed away the blood on her arm.

"You're staying in my room, right?" Reagan asked.

Reagan decided Charon definitely wasn't going to start responding.

"You know, you're really good at fighting. I almost had you real good but couldn't get a hold. I had fun... but I don't know about you though."

Reagan narrowed her eyes, watching him carefully. She wasn't as expressive as Erin but she was cocky and she knew this. She knew how to jive and get another person to say anything. Charon wasn't going to do any of that, the most expressive she had ever seen him was in the middle of the fight. Where the hell did Erin find this guy? He was extremely quiet and so still, so she watched him and wondered.

"You must have started working with Erin right after I left."

Reagan dropped the bloodied sleeve on the bench next to her, picking up the water bottle.

"That must have been annoying. I talk a lot but Erin talks constantly."

Reagan bit her lip to hide a smile, noticing the twitch in his eye brow. There it is. She had barely noticed it. She could get through. She stood up slowly, moving carefully as if she was trying to sneak up next to him. She lifted her chin and gazed down at him, starting to take a big step along the shared cell wall. She was trying to figure him out. Practically unreadable but if anything all his body language was constantly broadcasting him as unapproachable. Reagan narrowed her eyes, clutching the cell bars to lean on, the other holding the water bottle to her neck. Charon didn't even glance her way, eyes never leaving the stairway. He acted as if she wasn't in the cell next to him only few feet away. Reagan knew he was listening. He had no choice but to listen to her even if he did try to ignore her.

"Yeah... when me and Erin first met all he had was a little broken pistol and a bright blue vault suit! He acted like I saved his damn life. Well, I did, since my brother was fixing to cut him up."

Reagan unscrewed the water bottle, and took a short sip, twisting the cap back on. She turned her head to the stairs then back to Charon. She moved a little further down the shared wall, moving a little closer to his bench. He was out of reach, siting perfectly in the middle of the bench, and she had to set the water bottle down behind her so she didn't fall for the urge to toss it at him to get him to move even just a tiny hair. She sighed, blowing air to make her hair move from her face and stick to her sweaty forehead. The ventilation was poor in the bunker.

"Yep. We got out to Megaton. We traveled. He just has to help people, like, what is up with that? Seems like every time I turn around he's accepting to help someone find their missing shoe or some shit."

Reagan saw it again, deciding now for sure that if their interactions were to continue she would have to observe him much closer than anyone else she's met so far. Charon can't be that bad, Erin called him a friend. Reagan pressed her face to small space between the bars. Her eyes scanned over Charon. He hasn't fixed his shirt, it was still roughed up by their scuffle. It was stained with smudges of her blood on the fabric and smeared along his arm. His jaw had started to swell from the punch, bruises already forming over his damaged skin. It made her smile. Everyone would find out what happened and people would see the swelling on Charon's jaw. She may have not been able to choke him out, but she still considered it a win on her part, as he was down in his knees. If Sheriff Simms did not show up when he did to break up the fight, he would be out cold on the tin floor. She was 80 percent sure of it, choosing to over look the detail of Charon drawing first blood. They all talked big game about how dangerous he could be, there were rumors, she's heard stories. They all seemed a bit far fetched. Reagan witnessed first hand how quickly he moved, some of those stories had become in a way... more believable. She recalled that deadly look in his eyes. She wanted to know how far his patience could go before he snapped without her taking a swing at him. Especially if Erin liked the guy enough to let him stay in his shack.

Reagan titled her head, "You were fixing kill me, huh?"

The door opened three long hours later to the bunker and Harden walked down the steps. Reagan stood up to go lean on the cell door, looking down at the Sheriff's son. Reagan raised her scarred eyebrow in mild surprise to see him. Last time she saw the kid, he was just an ankle biter, now he was a young man, nearly as tall as Erin if he stood up straight. Reagan groaned, kids grow up fast. Maybe she could bribe him with candy as she did last time she got into trouble. Harden took the keys from his belt loop, dabbing away sweat from his round forehead with a cloth. Reagan smiled as Harden approached the two cells, excited by the anticipation to be let out. She had decided that Simms must have forgiven the little row. Instead Harden only unlocked Charon's cell door, holding it open for him to walk out of. Reagan gaped, her eye brows rise high. Harden didn't even look at her.

"Hey! Hey! Kid, what about me?" She cried out and pointed at Charon who already walked out of the bunker door, "you let him out but not me?"

Harden shut the cell door and shrugged his shoulders, "Sorry, dad said just Erin's friend."

"Hey! I'm Erin's friend too!"

"Dad didn't mean you."

"Don't leave me in here, brat!"

Reagan let out whine in complaint and Harden shrugged again. Reagan clutched at the cell doors, giving them a violent shake to make the doot rattle in its hinged railing. Harden ignored her tantrum and pursed his lips just like his father did when he wanted to scold someone but Harden turned away to go out the bunker steps.

...

Wowie... I wrote this much so far


End file.
